Is faith always a never-faltering, wild “Hallelujah!”?
I don’t think so.
I think faith is essentially this: turning my face toward the God I love even when (especially when!) I’ve stopped expecting an answer and maybe even when my heart has despaired of help.
I would argue that faith is precisely that step forward into the dark unknown, onto the broken road, lifting the unbearable heaviness as an offering and trusting that
that He hears
and that He will not abandon me.
We’re all encouraged when we read through Psalms. But what did David endure to experience the depth of love he has for God? What kind of heart-shredding pain did he go through before understanding how real and present God was and just how much God loved him regardless of his brokenness?
Understanding the whole story of the Bible, it’s much easier to see that my brokenness has a purpose.”
~Laura Story, When God Doesn’t Fix It
This came across my Facebook newsfeed and I really liked it.
Concise, it also acknowledges that most bereaved parents understand folks generally mean well, even when they say something less than helpful.
Honestly, this is great advice for what not to say to anyone going through a tough patch.
Each day I am reminded by sights, smells, sounds and memories that Dominic is in Heaven and not here.
But there are moments and seasons when his absence is particularly strong-when I can’t breathe in without also breathing a prayer, “Father, let me make it through this minute, this hour, this day.”
And that’s when I need grace-from family, friends and strangers.
Read the rest here: A Little Extra Grace
A precious sister-in-loss created this image.
It’s my theme song.
And the message of my heart.
Read the rest here: Monday Musings: Mercy
One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.
“How many children do you have?”
A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store. But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.
Read the rest here: It’s Complicated
Oh, how I need to learn to practice the pause!
I’m getting better, but still react when I should reflect.
I need to do this EVERY time.
Lord, help my stubborn heart slow down and give me grace to yield and allow You to melt it, mold it and make it more like Your own! ~ ❤
One of the things grief is teaching me is that I too often walk through the world like an angry giant, stomping around without any care as to where my large footprints land and what they crush underneath. I am intent on pursuing MY agenda, MY “to do” list, getting to My appointment or paying for MY groceries and heaven help the one who gets in my way.
I don’t want to be like that.
I want to be like Jesus.
I want to be gentle.
A broken reed He will not break [off] And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish [He will not harm those who are weak and suffering]; He will faithfully bring forth justice.
Isaiah 42:3 AMP
Jesus rested securely in the truth that His Father was near, that His Father had things under control and that His Father would redeem and was redeeming every little thing.
He was not anxious about outcomes. He didn’t have to prove anything or fight for status or control. He was completely free.
When I lean into the truth that God is My Abba Father and that He will and is redeeming every little thing in my life as well, I am equally free.
I don’t have to step on someone else to step up. I don’t have to put out someone else’s light so mine shines brighter.
My position is secured by the blood of Jesus. My light is the love of Christ shed abroad in my heart.
It’s ALL a gift.
It’s all GRACE.
It’s my privilege to live gently, be kind and give freely what has been given to me.